


Safety Pin

by houxvertetbruyere



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Being held down, Established FWB, Light BDSM, M/M, Naked Cuddling, No Sex, PTSD, Panic Attack, Tarsus IV, reference to Kahn, the convenient shared bathroom, they've really been through it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houxvertetbruyere/pseuds/houxvertetbruyere
Summary: Spock had been in awe the first 34.68 months he’d known Captain Kirk. Between death defying missions, chess games, and their occasional sexual encounters he had believed he had seen the man in all his probable emotional states. He had believed he was prepared to handle as it were, all of the captain’s needs.He was so rarely wrong.Trektober Day 3 - Restraints
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 4
Kudos: 149
Collections: Trektober 2020





	Safety Pin

Perhaps the most surprising element of his captain was his grace under fire. Spock had seen Captain Kirk under greater duress than any human with whom he had close contact and it never ceased to amaze him how composed the man remained. Much to Spock’s consternation, the captain’s ability to formulate complex plans in the heat of battle, even encumbered as he was by his human emotions, never weakened.

Spock had been in awe the first 34.68 months he’d known Captain Kirk. Between death defying missions, chess games, sparring and their occasional sexual encounters he had believed he had seen the man in all his probable emotional states. He had believed he was prepared to _handle_ as it were, all of the captain’s needs. 

He was so rarely wrong.

It seemed the measure of Captain Kirk’s composure relied upon staying occupied, “being a damned busybody” as Doctor McCoy liked to say. Perhaps Doctor McCoy, who had known the captain longer, if not more intimately, could have predicted what havoc two weeks in the starless void of null space would wreak upon the captain’s psyche. 

Spock, unfortunately, had made no such predictions. 

It was 0212 hours when Spock heard sounds of distress coming from the washroom adjoining his quarters with those of the captain. He was alarmed to catch the sound of ragged breaths, slightly wet choking. A telepathic probe could tell him if the man were in danger but he would not invade the captain’s mental privacy if he could avoid it. 

“Captain?” He called out through the door. He received no reply. “Captain,” he tried again, “it is Spock, are you well?” His question was simply met with more panicked breathing.

He attempted the door only to find it locked. Quite alarming. After their ordeal with Kahn Jim never locked a door between them. 

Spock opened his mind. 

Jim's fear, like a bullet, pierced Spock’s mind. Flashes of blood-stained pavement, a dusty sunless sky, the sickly sweet smell of fungus appeared unbidden. A man’s face, too horrible to make out, loomed above him. Pure fear kept him from looking the man in the eyes. Hunger, desperate hunger was an endless pit in him; it left his head muzzy and his muscles weak. There were bodies all around, human and so small- _children._

Spock gasped and threw his mental walls back up.

“Jim,” he panted, overwhelmed.

The captain was emanating waves of distress and confusion through the thin wall.

Spock _roared_. He was filled with a desperate rage he had not known since he watched his home planet implode. Using his innate strength he dug his fingers in and wrenched the offending door open. It screeched as the metal bent and twisted.

Good, he thought viciously. There should be no doors keeping him from his captain ever again.

The captain did not appear to notice Spock’s entrance from his position on the floor of the sonic shower.

“Captain,” Spock panted. “Jim.”

“They’re not coming.” Jim gasped out. He wasn’t breathing. “There’s no one- no one out there. I got the message out too late, I- and they’re not- No one’s coming. I’m sorry- I-”

“Jim, it is alright. I am here.” Spock kept his voice low. He took a deep breath and got himself under control. Jim did not appear to be hurt in any physical way. The blood he had seen in his mind was a memory. Painful, but not the current reality.

Spock dropped to his knees and projected soothing thoughts of safety and comfort.

“May I touch you?” He whispered. He was desperate to hold him.

Jim blinked several times. His eyes gained focus as they landed on Spock’s face. 

“Spock,” Jim sobbed. “Oh God!” Jim had scarcely reached out before the Vulcan was on him, scooping Jim up in his arms, pulling him into his lap. 

“Jim, I am here, you are safe. Safe with me. _Du nam-tor la' k'nash-veh_.” Spock ran his fingers through the captain’s short hair and held him close. Jim gasped and choked, gripped the back of Spock’s tunic in two tight fists. Spock found himself compelled to keep repeating utterances of comfort, promises of protection.

It was completely illogical.

Spock was not positive how much time passed like that. His rage cleared with his captain in his arms. Jim’s breathing slowed to match Spock’s own, his heart rate calmed but his grip on Spock remained. Jim’s mental walls were down; touching all over as they were, Jim’s hurt and distress washed over Spock in eddies. 

He itched to press his fingers to Jim’s psy points. To enter his mind and bring peace and order. Jim, however, was utterly human and humans were often disquieted by the presence of another in their mind. Physical comfort, therefore, could sometimes do the work that a mind meld could not. Even relative to other humans Spock found that Jim was especially tactile. It stood to reason Jim would benefit from further physical reassurances. 

“Jim,” Spock began, still quiet and projecting calm. “May I move us to your quarters?”

Jim shook his head.

“No, your place. Please.”

That was acceptable. Carefully, Spock manoeuvred his legs beneath him and carried Jim past the battered bathroom door (at which Spock most certainly did not snarl) and onto his bed. 

“I would like to provide physical comfort, however, outside of our sexual exploits I have little experience in the matter. Is there something in particular I can do to help, Jim?” Spock hovered over Jim who was laying on his back, still clinging to Spock's clothing.

“I think- if you could- hold me? Like, hold me down? I mean-” Jim huffed and was quiet a moment while he gathered his thoughts. Spock ran his thumb over the delicate skin under Jim’s eye.

“It’s PTSD and um- agoraphobia.” Spock blinked in confusion. Jim Kirk was the last person Spock could imagine experiencing discomfort in crowds of strangers. That was the exact area where the human seemed to thrive.

“From Tarsus IV.” Oh. Bile roiled in Spock’s stomach.

“The uh- wide open spaces. Hundreds of kilometers of destroyed crops and razed houses, dust so thick in the air you couldn’t see through to the stars. Just. Nothing. As far as you could see.” Jim’s eyes were distant and unfocused but his heartbeat was steady beneath Spock’s palm. 

“And we have been in null space for approximately 13 days- unable to see even the closest stars. Jim, you should have told me. We could have limited your bridge duties. You could have-”

“Spock, come on. Bones already gave me the third degree.” Jim sighed and Spock relented. Though he knew he was correct, he also knew he must “pick his battles” as Jim would say. 

“And being held is the best remedy for this feeling?” Spock asked, instead.

Jim’s cheeks flushed. His expression was perhaps… shy? Fascinating.

“It helps if I can be, um, grounded. Firmly held in place with, um,” Jim met his gaze, “skin to skin contact.” 

“I am amenable to this,” he agreed immediately. “Shall I completely disrobe?”

“Yeah,” Jim sighed, relief evident in his tone and posture. “Please.”

Spock was only wearing a tunic and standard issue undergarments. He disrobed quickly and after asking “May I?” proceeded to take over disrobing Jim.

He had an idea of what position might work best for this but as a Vulcan he was heavier than Jim and he didn't want to cause more distress.

Jim shivered slightly, naked on Spock’s bed, and he remembered other occasions in which they found themselves in this position. The circumstances were wildly different now, though. Spock felt no arousal beyond the usual curious tug his mind always experienced toward Jim.

“I have considered your suggestion and I believe the most effective remedy would be laying myself atop your body and holding your wrists with my hands. I have considerable strength, as you know, and could restrain you fully if you so wish.”

Jim was nodding before Spock finished speaking. 

Jim licked his lips. “Try it. I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”

Spock would be able to tell if Jim was unhappy regardless, his mental walls still down, but he chose to leave that unsaid. 

Jim rolled to his stomach and adjusted himself further up the bed. Spock bracketed the man’s legs with his own and gently pressed down into Jim’s body. Jim’s breath wheezed out of him on a sigh.

His fingers were twitching by his sides so Spock took hold of his wrists and lifted them up to rest by Jim’s shoulders. From an intruder’s perspective this might look like a wrestling hold.

“Is this satisfactory?”

Jim swallowed twice before suggesting, “A little tighter?”

When Spock caught his meaning and tightened his grip on Jim’s wrists, pressing them firmly into the mattress, Jim moaned on his next exhale. His eyelids fluttered shut.

“Perfect.”

Spock aligned their legs so that they touched at every possible point. He tilted his hips to keep his groin below the swell of Jim’s behind. Finally, he rested his head on the warm skin of Jim’s shoulder and breathed deeply, evenly, listening to the heartbeat below him. It seemed this position had the happy fortune of soothing the protective and desperate desire Spock had been taken by earlier. To touch, to hold, to _own_ Jim. 

Later he would have to adjust the environmental controls, contact Doctor McCoy to obtain a medical deferral from bridge duty for both of them (convincing Jim to miss a shift might take some effort but he was confident in his abilities) and calculate how quickly they could get back to normal space on their current fuel supplies.

For now, though, he focused on Jim’s heartbeat. Comforting thoughts were coming from the human. Spock received flashes of images again, these ones pleasant. Being held in the sunshine as a child on Earth, a nest of blankets and pillows in an Academy dorm room, images of Spock’s own profile standing on the bridge, of his hands as he moved a chess piece, warmth all around him.

Spock basked in the closeness, projected his own memories of safety and comfort and Jim. 

Jim fell asleep like that, vulnerable and content beneath him and when he woke again he would be in a more comfortable position, on his back to facilitate breathing, but he would be in Spock’s arms. He would be safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to hard to avoid contractions in Spock's voice but I'm positive I missed a few.
> 
> According to the English to Vulcan translator Du nam-tor la' k'nash-veh means "I am here with you"


End file.
